Abbot Glisam had decided to see Umfry out in the orchard. The gorgeous spring morn and the bright, blossoming trees did little to allay his dismay. Glisam turned to the group of elders who had joined him, shaking his head sadly. “Oh dear, I detest having to sit in judgement on others, especially young uns. I don’t like it at all.”
Umfry’s grandsire, Corksnout Spikkle, sat down on an upturned barrow. “Yore too soft-’earted, Father, best leave this t’me. I was supposed to see the young rip down in my cellars earlier on, but young Frintl said he was sleepin’ sound. So if ye’ll allow me I’ll have a stern word with ’im.”
Glisam smiled gratefully. “Thank you, sir, I’m obliged.”
Brother Torilis sniffed, issuing a disapproving sound. “Hmph!”
The Laird Bosie, who was also in attendance, held out a spotless, scented kerchief. “Here, mah friend, blow yore snout if’n ye’ve got the sniffles.” He watched Torilis stalk off stiffly, then winked at Glisam. “Och, was it somethin’ that Ah said?”
Umfry plodded into the orchard, flanked by Bisky and Dwink. He bowed to the Abbot, who pointed to Corksnout.
“I think it’s your grandfather who wants to hear what you’ve got to say for yourself, young un.”
Corksnout glared at Umfry. “Well?”
Dwink immediately spoke out. “It was my fault, I said that he could sleep in our dormitory last night, ’cos of how bad the weather was. It’s a long walk t’that Gate’ouse through all the wind an’ rain…an’ all that….”
His voice trailed off, so Bisky cut in. “I told him to stay indoors, too, sir, he might’ve caught a cold an’ the sniffles, y’see.”
Corksnout’s gaze moved from one to the other. “I ain’t speakin’ to either of you two. So, young Umfry, wot’s yore excuse for leavin’ the main outer gate open an’ unguarded last night, eh?”
Umfry shuffled his footpaws, mumbling, “The gate was shut an’ barred when h’I left it, sir.”
Samolus added, “He’s prob’ly right, it must’ve been the intruders that opened it.”
Umfry took a grip of himself. Standing up straight, he spoke out loud and clear. “Maybe h’it was, but that’s no h’excuse, ’tis my job h’as Gatekeeper to guard that gate. Well, h’I didn’t. So h’I’ll ’ave to h’ask ye to h’accept me h’ apologies, ’twon’t ’appen again, sir!”
Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw nodded approvingly. “Hurr, well spaken, zurr, wot do ee says, Corkie?”
The burly Cellarhog stroked his chin. “Well said right enough, but something, ’as t’be done about it, so this is my judgement. Umfry, yore relieved of gatekeepin’ duties ’til I says. As a punishment, ye can clean the cellars out, from top to bottom. Sweep, ’em until there ain’t a sign o‘ dust nor cobweb anywhere. All the stock must be restacked, every barrel, keg, puncheon, cask an’ firkin, neat’n’tidy. Dwink an’ Bisky, you confess to encouragin’ Umfry to desert his post?”
Both the young creatures stood to attention. “Aye, sir, we did!”
Corksnout nodded grimly, then adjusted his nose, which had slid into his mouth. “Right, then you can ’elp Umfry with the task!”
Abbot Glisam sighed with relief. “Well, that’s that! But who’ll mind the gate?”
Foremole Gullub raised a huge digging claw. “Hurr hurr, that’ll be Oi, zurr, ee gurt bed in yon gatey’ouse bees the mostest cummfibble wun Oi ever see’d in moi loife.”
A smile played around the Father Abbot’s lips. “As long as you don’t neglect your duties by snoring all day in it. Permission granted!”
Dwink twirled his bushy tail. “When do we start our job?”
Corksnout stood up from the barrow, fixing the trio with a severe stare. “How about right now this instant!”
Umfry’s jaw dropped. “But wot about brekkist?”
Gullub beckoned toward the Abbey. “Cumm ee with Oi, may’ap ee Froir wull make you’m up ee packed vikkles.”
Samolus watched them trotting off happily. “There goes three good young uns, proper friends!”
Bosie waggled his ears. “Aye, ye ken the way they helped each other oot? Och there’s nae much wrong wi’ them!”
Friar Skurpul greeted the friends at the kitchen doorway. “Goo’day, likkle zurrs, you’m cummed to ’elp Oi at ee ovens furr awhoil?”
Foremole Gullub came trundling in behind them. “Hurr, Oi’m afeared they’m b’aint a-worken at ovens t’day, Froir. Thurr bees tarsks furr ’em a-cleanen owt ee cellars. Straightaways, too, an’ they’m b’aint havved a taste o’ brekkfust yet.”
The kindly Friar ladled out three beakers from a cauldron. “Yurr now, set ee doawn an sup moi leekybean soup, whoilst Oi pack summat furr you’m pore stummicks!”
Foremole Gullub helped himself to a tankard of the savoury soup, and a small crusty loaf. He waved to them as he left the kitchen. “Goo’bye, Oi’m off t’moi Gatey’ouse. Hurr hurr, you uns have fun in ee cellars!”
The cellars at Redwall Abbey were ancient, and widespread. Bisky placed the big food parcel, which the Friar had made up, on a barreltop table. He smiled ruefully. “There’s enough cleanin’ work down here to keep us busy for a season or two, I think!”
Dwink had already begun inspecting the contents of the parcel. “Good golly, mates, ole Skurpul’s packed enough to keep us fed for twice that long. Look, apple’n’blackberry turnovers, cheese’n’onion pasties, a full rhubarb crumble, scones, honey an’ salad. Anyone for brekkist?”
Umfry sighed. “Not just yet, Dwink, we’d best make h’a start with the cleanin’ first.”
“That’s the spirit, young uns, work first, eat later!” Corksnout stood in the cellar doorway. “I’m just off to Great ’All for brekkist. But I’ll be back t’see ’ow yore goin’ on with the task. Now you’ll find brooms, mops, pails, dusters an’ so on, outside o’ my room over there. Bend yore backs t’the job at paw, an’ we’ll get on fine t’gether.”
Bisky saluted the big Cellarhog. “Right, sir, where’d you like us to start?”
Corksnout pointed. “Right at the far wall o’ the back cellar. Move all the barrels, dust ’em, make sure the bungs are tight an’ check ’em for leaks. Brush all the floor an’ walls, then restack the barrels.” He strode jauntily off, humming a tune.
Umfry mopped imaginary perspiration from his headspikes. “H’I feel tired jus’ lissenin’ to that ole hog!”
Dwink had gone back to checking their food. “I’ve just noticed somethin’. Friar Skurpul never gave us anythin’ to drink.”
Bisky was grinning broadly, winking at Umfry. “I wonder why, got any ideas, mate?”
Umfry did not see the funny side of things. He shrugged. “Prob’ly ’cos we’re h’in a cellarful o’ drinks. Come on, let’s get the brooms h’an make a start!”
The back cellar was a fair distance from the main chamber. Lanterns had to be lit there before they could see anything clearly. Even then it had a slightly morbid atmosphere, full of shapes and shifting shadows. Barrels, casks, kegs and firkins were stacked in rows, from ceiling to floor. Umfry moved to the far corner, tapping a heap of standing barrels with his paw.
“These are empty h’ale barrels. Let’s dust ’em h’off.”
Bisky made a sensible suggestion. “Aye, we can roll ’em out into the passage. They’ll be ready then, for the next October Ale brewing.”
They worked steadily at the barrels, with Umfry singing a little song he had learned from his grandad.
“Ye can’t do no more than a good day’s work,
to earn a good day’s feed,
so bend that back an’ when yore done,
some grub is wot you’ll need!
There ain’t no room for idlebeasts,
nowheres about this place,
if ye sit about an’ shirk yore chores,
you’ll end with an empty face!